The Inevitable Fall From Grace
by RocknVaughn
Summary: Vaughn POV. Vaughn deals with conflicting feelings the evening he returns from the Russia mission.


The Inevitable Fall From Grace 

by RocknVaughn (1/1)

A fire crackled merrily in the grate, yet it sparked no warmth for its lone spectator. Michael Vaughn, dressed in only a pair of blue jeans, the neck of a bottle of Heineken dangling from his fingers, sat staring at the fire, unseeing; his mind was elsewhere.

If truth be told, at the moment, he'd rather be holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, but he was afraid he might not put it down if he got started… He'd been there before and wasn't going back. But since he refused to use alcohol as a crutch to escape his problems, he chose the beer, which he'd barely had a sip of.

Michael lifted his hand and put the bottle to his lips to rectify that error, allowing the swig of cool liquid to slide down his throat untasted and largely unnoticed before dropping his hand back to hang over the edge of the overstuffed armchair he'd slouched into.

_This can't be happening…_ Michael told himself, but deep inside, he knew that it was; the truth refused to stay hidden for long: A part of him, a part of him he thought he'd buried when he scattered her ashes at sea off the pier in Santa Barbara, still loved Sydney Bristow. No, was still _in love_ with Sydney Bristow. The love would not be denied…and it was quickly engulfing him.

From the first moment she'd been in trouble, in the club in Frankfurt, he'd slipped his worry on like a favorite pair of slippers. The same heart-pounding, adrenaline rushing _need_ to help her resurfaced like it had never been gone, as if not a moment had passed.

If he'd needed further proof that he was not as stoic as he'd believed came in form of an intense wave of love and desire that broadsided him at the Science Ministry in Moscow. She looked so incredibly beautiful, like a goddess…too good to be true. Such an innocent moment…just a look across the room, a smile…and he was trapped; trapped in her gaze, trapped in his emotions, trapped in the past. He couldn't remove his eyes from hers; indeed, he couldn't breathe. She _was_ his breath in that moment. And while he had come to his senses and looked away, the epiphany he'd had then could not be denied.

Yes, now that she was back, it was as if that part of him had merely been asleep, waiting for her return. And, try as he might, he couldn't seem to completely compartmentalize that emotion. God knows he tried. He tried all the time. He looked at his beautiful, intelligent wife over and over again and thought of all the reasons he fell for her. He did so now, trying to bring a sense of balance back to his psyche, but this time, one more reason crept into his consciousness: he'd been attracted to Lauren because of her similarity to Sydney. Sure, they looked nothing alike, Sydney, a tall, lithe brunette with hazel eyes, and Lauren, a petite, curvy blonde with blue eyes, but their personalities were so similar it was almost eerie.

He wondered idly why he'd never seen it before, perhaps because he'd never seen them side-by-side before…or perhaps because he hadn't been ready to admit it before. Both were extremely bright and quick-witted. Both could be supremely rational or completely irrational, depending on the moment. Neither one liked to be bossed around, neither liked to be wrong…and usually weren't. They had strength of character and dignity of demeanor that was rare, indeed. And in his lifetime, he'd found _two_ such women.

Indeed, the true difference between the two was a single fact…that _he_ had always been _Sydney's_ savior, the one to right her world when everything went wrong; while Lauren had been _his_ savior, pulling him from the depths of his despair and madness to bring him back to the land of the living. 

A part of him acknowledged that he'd rather be the savior than the saved.

But yet, it had been Lauren's saving quality that he'd turned to this evening. After returning from the Russia mission, amazingly alive and in one piece, all he could think about once he'd seen her was getting home and being with her…to release the pent-up emotional high of his narrow escape.

Once they'd gotten in the door of their house, he'd not wasted a moment. The haphazard path of discarded clothes that led to their bedroom was proof enough of that. Lauren had been startled, yet pleased, with his sudden fervor. Normally their lovemaking was more controlled, subtler, and more sedate. She'd never seen the 'post-mission' Michael before, never experienced his aching _need_ to celebrate his survival in the most deeply human way possible, but she hadn't shrunk from the challenge, either. Indeed, Lauren had appeared to revel in the moment, matching him kiss for kiss and touch for touch. He'd never felt such a sense of urgency since…well, since Sydney.

By the time they reached the bed, they were both panting and lustful; attacking one another with the ferocity of need that adrenaline leaves in its wake. The mask of tenderness that normally covered their lovemaking had slipped away and only desire remained…a bright, burning ache that needed to be assuaged as quickly as possible. He could feel the tension rising and needed to feel that fireball burst inside him and out of him at all costs. And Lauren matched him thrust for thrust, urging him ever closer to his release. But even as he finally pushed her over the edge, her nails lightly scratching his back as her guttural, nonsensical cries echoed around him, his blood rushing in his ears, he could not find his release. Try as he might, relief would not come. 

As Lauren's movements slowed below him, he felt the beginnings of frustration set in; there might be no relief for him tonight after all…and tonight, of all nights, he needed it _so_ badly. He'd closed his eyes, willing his body to free him, whatever the cost. He _needed_ to feel the tension pour out of him; he needed to _feel_ again. And that's when it happened…

A vision swam before his eyes: a vision of a Grecian goddess swathed in red silk that hugged every delicious curve, swirling tendrils of brunette hair brushing her neck like a lover's caress…her eyes burning with love and desire, and all of it for him. 

Gasping with the force of his violent release, he'd come more powerfully than he'd ever come in his life. It seemed to go on forever, shaking his body, shaking his soul. Tears rolled unnoticed down his cheeks as he gasped for air and collapsed upon the warm, comforting body of his wife, boneless and unmoving.

He lay, speechless and spent, for several minutes while Lauren soothingly stroked his back and the hair at the base of his neck, waiting for him to recover. She'd laughed huskily and teased him, saying she hoped all his welcome home parties would be this exciting. All he could do was nod, his head buried in her neck, his face burning with shame.

Never had he envisioned Sydney when he'd made love to Lauren…until now. Guilt ate at him greedily; stealing the sleep that normally followed their coupling. When he'd recovered enough to move, he'd rolled off Lauren, pulling her into a warm embrace at his side. She rested her head easily in the crook of his shoulder; her arm lay across his chest in a possessive yet careless manner, as she'd done so many nights before. He held her silently and listened to her breathing as she fell into a blissful, peaceful slumber, unaware of her husband's inner turmoil. He'd waited until she was sleeping soundly and then dragged his restless self out of bed, into his jeans, and down the stairs to the chilled living room. He'd busied himself with making a fire and then grabbed a cold one out of the fridge, collapsing in this chair to make sense out of his twisted, messed up life.

He loved both of them. There…he'd said it…or at least he'd allowed himself to _think_ it. It was an undeniable fact that haunted him…and it was tearing him apart. 

Michael brought his shaking hand to his mouth and drained the remainder of his beer, resisting the urge to hurl the empty bottle into the fireplace. It would solve nothing, and the last thing he wanted was Lauren, his caring and wonderful partner, asking questions that he was not yet ready to answer. 

He placed the empty bottle on the side table, instead grabbing the gilded frame there and staring at it for a long moment. Two ecstatically happy faces smiled at him from beneath the glass. He didn't make promises lightly, and that day he'd promised to forsake all others and love Lauren forever.

_But how the hell was I to know that Sydney was still out there?_  he asked himself desperately.  _People don't **normally** come back from the dead…_

But then, _nothing_ about Sydney Bristow could _ever_ be categorized as "normal". 

In the light of all that had transpired, it now sounded like a hollow excuse. Even _death_ could not seem to conquer the Bristow women. Irina Derevko had proven she could cheat death…several times, in fact; why had it been so hard to believe that her _daughter_ could as well?

_You should have known… _he cursed himself. _You should have **known** she was alive… You should have **felt** it in your bones…_  he scolded himself fiercely.

But, maybe he _had_ felt it…maybe _that_ was why he'd fallen into madness…a madness that wasn't so mad. His soul had refused to acknowledge what all reason said he must; that she was dead, gone, unreachable. His _soul_ had known differently. _Why_ hadn't he listened? Why hadn't he _believed_?

Those questions had easy, yet difficult answers. Everyone had told him that Sydney wasn't coming back. Everyone had told him he needed to move on. He fought that notion tooth and nail, preferring instead to speak to her phantom, rather than believe she was gone. But eventually, he'd convinced himself that they must be right; that through his grief he could not see clearly. 

He'd moved on, found a new love, and married her, believing he'd started over…until a fateful night in Hong Kong, when his new world began crumbling beneath his feet.

Restlessness setting in again, Michael placed the frame back on the side table and stood, grabbing the empty beer container. He padded barefoot to the kitchen and disposed of the bottle, then wearily climbed the stairs to enter his bedroom.

Looking down on the form of his beautiful and trusting wife, her arm wrapped around his pillow as if it were his chest instead of down feathers, his heart contracted with pain.

_God! This isn't happening…_ Michael tried to tell himself, wetting his lips, tasting the beer on his tongue, but he knew he was lying. It _was_ happening…his life was quickly becoming a train wreck, his two worlds colliding head on, and he hadn't a  clue  how to stop it. 

He knew that he loved Lauren dearly, but now he feared in the depths of his soul that, perhaps, his love for Lauren may have been rooted in the very fact that she reminded him so much of Sydney.

Damn it, he didn't _want_ to love Sydney! He didn't _want_ to feel this magnetic attraction to her; he wanted that with his _wife_…with his wonderful, sweet wife, who was blissfully ignorant of the tidal wave about to engulf her.

He could not deny that he truly cherished the time he'd spent with Lauren. She'd been a godsend; his own guardian angel at a time when he'd truly needed one. But his love for Lauren, though very real and very deep, was, in truth, only an extension of the love that welled within him for Sydney; he could see that now. His love for Lauren stood on the building blocks that Sydney had laid. And in the end, when the inevitable tempest had taken its toll and the dust had cleared, that foundation—his love for Sydney—would be all that remained.

Like a moth to a flame, he could not resist the inexorable pull that was Sydney Bristow. The very depths of his soul knew her, recognized her as his one true soul mate. Their relationship had been rocky, strewn with the impossible obstacles of her mother killing his father, the threat of death and dismemberment at the hands of SD-6, yet it had been effortlessly easy to love her. It came to him as naturally as breathing, its rhythm as steady and unyielding as the ocean waves. Its undertow would sweep him under again, he knew now with a certainty he could not explain. There was no denying the inevitable. He _would_ love her again…he _did_ love her still.

Standing there, watching over the woman who had so often watched over him, he'd never felt more like a character in a Shakespearean tragedy in his life than at that moment. This was a story that appeared to have no happy ending, no happily ever after. No matter where he went or whom he chose; someone would end up heartbroken…perhaps _all_ of them would…because if he allowed himself to admit it, there really was only one choice he could make, one choice that his soul would accept.

This world, this life that he'd created—the one that didn't include Sydney—was a lie: A lie created by the myth that he could move on, that he could love another. But death did not sever his bond to Sydney; it only made it stronger. He would always be Sydney's; she would always be his…the rest was just details.

It was only a matter of time before Lauren recognized the changes in him, changes he'd only just acknowledged himself. He knew he needed to do something soon; before it got any worse. He couldn't stand the idea of hurting her, but couldn't live with himself if he didn't set her free, giving her the chance to find the love she really deserved.

Lauren deserved a man who loved her with his whole heart and his whole soul…something that he could never give to her. She'd known he was broken when she'd met him, when she'd fallen in love with him. And yes, she'd chosen the broken man he was rather than a whole someone else. But that was before. That was before Sydney came back. Now her husband was once again whole, but not whole because of _her_…and never would be, through no fault of her own. 

Soon, he would tell her. Somehow, he would find the words to make her understand that he has no choice in the matter, and never had. His soul has been branded; it belongs to another, and no amount of denial would ever change that fact. He would explain to her that he could no more stop his love for Sydney than will his heart to stop beating. He would make her understand that she deserved better than he could give her and that he wanted her to _have_ that happiness with another rather than suffer the pain of 'second best' beside him.

But tonight…tonight he would hold on to the lie for just a moment longer. As selfish as it seemed, he wanted to commit this moment in time to memory, he wanted to remember this love they had _before_ its inevitable fall from grace. He stripped off his jeans and slid between the covers, pulling Lauren to him, feeling her sigh against his chest as she embraced him once more. He was once again holding a woman he loved in his arms…a woman that he knew would soon no longer be his.


End file.
